Mari guided her mount between Estah and the attacking horsemen, trying to aim her crossbow. She fired, but the bolt whistled harmlessly through the air. She took aim again, then swore in frustration. It was too chaotic, and she couldn't be sure she wouldn't hit one of her companions instead of one of the horsemen.

Caledan managed to fell his second attacker, then looked up to see a horseman fly from his mount as a brilliant, cobalt blue bolt of light exploded against his chest. Caledan cast a glance at the mage, but Morhion was deep in concentration, readying another spell. Caledan grunted. At least the mage could carry his own weight in a battle. There were only five horsemen left now, and Caledan sensed the tide was turning.

Suddenly a sound split the air. A sphere of searing crimson brilliance burst apart in the night. Then came a boom like thunder. The companions scattered, their mounts skittering away from the magical inferno. It was sheer luck that the flames did not engulf them.

"Beware sorcery!" Morhion shouted above the din of the battle. Caledan glanced up and saw a figure silhouetted against the dark sky on a low rise. So that was the source of the magical fire. He tried to break Mista away from the battle, to ride up the hill, but his opponent rained a flurry of fierce blows upon him, and Caledan was forced to stop and parry.

He heard Morhion muttering another spell, but the mage's words were cut short as a horseman bore down on him. Morhion drew a small dagger, prepared to defend himself. Caledan looked up to see the sorcerer on the ridgetop gesturing wildly.

Abruptly the sorcerer staggered backward, his spell going wild. A trail of fire arced high overhead, bursting in a flash of crimson light that momentarily illuminated the battle scene as though it were day. Then the magical fire faded into darkness. Sparks drifted down like fireflies. On the hilltop, the sorcerer crumpled. Caledan glanced to his side and saw Mari lowering her crossbow. He reminded himself to compliment the Harper on her good aim.

Without any further interruptions, it was scant minutes before they dispatched the rest of the attackers. Estah examined the companions in turn. Each had suffered nicks and bruises, and Tyveris had wrenched his shoulder.

"That last one was a bit heftier than I thought," he said, wincing as Estah probed his shoulder to make sure it was no more than a strained muscle.

"Well, next time knock the rider down, not the horse," Estah quipped, and Tyveris grinned sheepishly.

Caledan dismounted, kneeling by one of the fallen horsemen. The man was wicked-looking, his cheekbones outlined by raised, jagged scars. Caledan pulled off the man's black glove, then nodded. The horseman was missing the tip of one of his fingers.

"They're Zhentarim," he told the others.

"As was their sorcerer," Morhion said gravely as he came down the grassy slope after having examined the fallen Zhent on the top of the rise.

"But how could the Zhentarim have followed us?" Mari asked, her brow furrowed in concentration. "How would Ravendas have known to lay an ambush for us here, so far from Iriaebor?"

Caledan turned to look at Morhion. The mage returned the gaze, giving no clue to his thoughts.

"I don't know," Caledan said, gritting his teeth. "I don't know."

Much as Caledan hated the delay, they spent the following day camped in a low grassy hollow, sheltered from the wind. Dawn had broken shortly after the battle with the Zhentarim, but they had decided not to ride on. The horses were exhausted, and the fact was, so were the rest of them. None of the companions had fought such a wild battle in years. Although Caledan knew none of his old friends would admit it, the fight had depleted them. So they rested, with Caledan spending most of the day pacing nervously. He wanted to get this journey over with and get back to the city.

The next day dawned clear, and they spent it riding deeper into the Fields of the Dead. Ferret periodically spurred his horse ahead, scouting the terrain and keeping watch for any more Zhentarim-or the shadevar. However, they encountered only a few peasant farmers.

Despite their ominous name, the Fields of the Dead were beautiful, grass-swept plains broken occasionally by lines of low rolling ridges. Ancient oak trees grew atop some of the gentle hills, like hoary old sentinels keeping watch. The spring sunlight was warm and golden, the air above filled with the wheeling and diving of meadowlarks.

It was difficult for Caledan to imagine that, centuries ago, these grassy plains had been trampled and torn up by the booted feet of vast armies. It was said that rivers in the Fields ran red with the blood of the thousands who had perished here, and that some of the low hills were not hills at all, but were instead huge burial mounds where entire armies had been entombed.

Several hundred years had passed since those tumultuous days. With the rise of the city of Waterdeep to the west, the empire of Amn to the south, and the Caravan Cities to the east, the Fields had gradually lost their strategic importance in the struggle for power in the western half of the continent of Faerun. Now the land was sparsely populated by villages and farms, and most of the scars of ancient battle had been turned beneath the soil by the activity of countless plowshares.

There were still some reminders of how these plains had acquired their name. Caledan had lost count of all the overgrown stone barrows and grass-covered burial mounds they had passed as they rode. He found himself hoping the dead slept soundly in the Fields. He couldn't imagine a worse place to start believing in ghosts.

It was shortly after midday when the Harper guided her mount near Caledan. The two rode in silence for a long time before the Harper broke the silence.

"Tell me about Kera," she said in a thoughtful voice. Caledan looked at her sharply, feeling a momentary flash of irritation. But then, why shouldn't the Harper want to know about Kera?

"What do you want me to say?" he asked her softly.

Mari shrugged. "I don't know," she said simply. "When did you learn that Ravendas and Kera were sisters?"

Caledan raised an eyebrow, but Mari did not meet his gaze. One of the others must have told her, he realized, or maybe even the Harpers had. "It's strange," he said, thinking back. "It was Ravendas I knew first, not Kera. It must have been twelve, thirteen years ago. I was sent on a mission by the Harpers to the city of Baldur's Gate. Rumor had it that an assassin had been sent to wipe out the Council of Four which governed the city. That would have been disastrous. The Zhentarim would be all too happy to step in and take control. Anyway, it was an ambitious young commander in the city's secret police who helped me infiltrate the council so I could spy on them. I discovered the would-be assassin who-and this isn't much of a surprise-turned out to be Zhentarim."

"And that young commander was Ravendas?" Mari asked.

Caledan nodded. "Even then, she was an ambitious woman, daughter of a famous mercenary, proud of her ability as a warrior and as a commander, and determined to rise up in the world. But at the time I didn't have an inkling of her true nature." He shook his head. No, he had underestimated Ravendas every step of the way. "I met her sister before I left the city, though I didn't think much of Kera at the time. She was little more than a girl, about five years younger than Ravendas. Ravendas didn't think much of Kera either. Her little sister was quiet, shy, and thoughtful. Those weren't traits Ravendas much respected."

Caledan swallowed hard. "Some years later, my travels brought me back through Baldur's Gate. By that time Ravendas had become leader of the Flaming Fists, yet even that position didn't satisfy her. I spent some time with her, as an old friend, but I grew weary of her delusions of power. Before I moved on, however, I ran into her sister again, and…"